


Look beyond the Mask

by ladybonheur



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Food Puns, Food villain, Gen, Masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonheur/pseuds/ladybonheur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloé is having a masquerade ball as her birthday party and Marinette has a perfect plan to dance with Adrien. Only being uninvited to the party had not been part of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look beyond the Mask

               Even though Marinette could not run across rooftops or do somersaults without the Ladybug outfit, that did not mean that her running skills were not to be reckoned with. She had had plenty of practice after becoming a heroine. Not only during missions of defending Paris against akumatized villains, but also in her irritatingly frequent late races to school, which resulted from said missions.

               Despite Alya’s teasing, it was not entirely Marinette’s fault. Being Ladybug was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Some days – few, yet bothersome –, she got home so late she had only a couple of hours to sleep before a new day began. That happened to be one of those days.

               Marinette knew her surge of energy would disappear as soon as she slowed down her pace and she would never make it to school in time. That was why she did not stop, even when her cellphone started to buzz.

               “Marinette, where are you?” demanded Alya in an anxious tone.

               “I – I’m coming,” said Marinette between breaths.

               “Well, hurry up! Chloé is throwing a birthday party next weekend and she is inviting the entire class!”

               As much as Marinette appreciated her friend’s keeping her up to date with the news, she did not understand how this was so important that Alya had to call. Parties? Sure, great. But with Chloé? She would pass.

               “It’s going to be a huge masquerade ball,” chimed Alya, hoping to get a more expressive reaction from Marinette.

               “Ni – huff – ce.”

               There was a sigh of annoyance coming from Alya’s side of the line. Did she have to spell out everything?

               “It will be your perfect romantic opportunity to dance with Adrien.”

               Marinette’s breath was immediately cut short, causing her to stop on her tracks. Placing one hand on her knee, the other one still holding the phone, the girl inspired deeply. Before her eyes, the scene unfolded.

               Adrien, handsome as ever, in a black tuxedo and a matching mask. Marinette, in a beautiful blood red gown designed by herself. The mask would help hide her blush – who knew, she might even stutter a little less. A slow song would play. Adrien would walk up to her and ask for a dance. They would waltz around the ballroom all night.

              From there on, all that would be left to discuss was the kind of cake to be served in their wedding and their hamster’s name. Minor details.

              “Marinette? Marineeette? Are you there?” Alya’s voice echoed, bringing her back to reality. First things first. She still needed to pick up her invitation.

              The thoughts of the party functioned as an injection of stamina.

              “I’m almost there, Alya!” squealed Marinette, promptly resuming her run in a pace even faster than before. She heard a giggle on the other side of the line before she hung up.

 

* * *

 

 

              By the time Marinette arrived at school, Alya had already placed one of the invitations on her desk. The black-haired tackled her friend into a big hug, at which the other simply laughed. Marinette thought of going to Chloé and thanking her for the invitation as well, but changed her mind as soon as she overheard the blonde’s conversation.

              “You know, I just felt bad for these people. They would never get the chance to go to a real party again, let alone the chance to see me in the _stunning_ dress papa bought me,” Chloé was telling Sabrina, who nodded eagerly at each word. “Still,” she sighed, “I frankly don’t know how _some_ people are going to make it. Yes, sure, I invited them, but they won’t be able to enter if they don’t dress appropriately… It is a masquerade after all, it is highly formal. But I suppose a mask can help some be more bearable to look at.” The girl flashed a mischievous smile and, noticing that the rest of the class was quietly listening to her, turned to her classmates. “You should really thank me for that, Marinette.”

              Marinette’s face flushed red as Chloé and Sabrina laughed. Alya put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and forced her to sit down, though she glared at the obnoxious duo as well.

              “Relax, girl,” said Alya. “Focus on your night with your _handsome boy_.” The remark quickly made Marinette forget Chloé’s words. Alya knew her too well. “So, what are you going to wear? Bet you’ve got it all figured out already.”

              “Not quite…” Marinette opened her sketchbook and flipped the pages until she found what she was looking for. “I’ve already designed some ball gowns, so I have a good starting point with this one. A few changes here and there, take off these sleeves, make a mask, and that should be it.”

              “Oh, nice! The color will look great on you!” Marinette blushed. “You have to make something for me too. A mask! Two dresses would be too much for one week.” Alya was not about to miss the chance of wearing an original Marinette.

              “No problem at all! What color is your dress?”

              “I still have to decide… I’ll send you a picture of what I have when I get home.”

              Marinette nodded eagerly, but, before the conversation could go on, her attention was drawn to the door. Flashing a smile that could melt a heart, Adrien walked in and took his place beside Nino. His presence filled the room as though someone had just lighted up a candle in a moonless night. Or perhaps it was just Marinette.

              “Adrie-en!”

              The sound of Chloé’s voice quickly snapped her back to reality.

              “This is the invitation to my awesome birthday party.” Without waiting for a response, Chloé grabbed the boy’s hand and placed the pink envelope in it. “Don’t worry, I’ll have my father talk to yours so you can come. You can wear something gold to match my dress, we’ll look lovely together!”

              “Wow, uh, thank you, Chloé!” said Adrien, smiling shyly. If the girl had noticed the hesitation in his voice, that certainly did not bother her at all, as indicated by her confident strut back to Sabrina.

              Noticing her friend’s glare at Chloé, Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette. “Marinette, believe me. When Adrien sees you in _that_ , he will not even remember who the other girls are.”

              Marinette’s eyes were filled with determination as her gaze set upon her sketchbook. She would make Alya’s words come true.

* * *

              The rest of the week was much of a blur to Marinette. In the daytime, she struggled to balance homework and chores with the creation of her ball dress. At night, time was again divided between patrolling and getting the dress done before Saturday. She started to wish she had picked a simpler design – or that Chloé had distributed the invitations sooner, but it was easier to wish for France to switch its official language to English than that. The amount of work was becoming overwhelming. Even Chat Noir realized it.

              “If an akuma attacked right now, all you could do was sleep on them.”

              “Shut up, _chaton_ ,” Ladybug snapped, surprising herself. Apparently, the lack of proper sleep also affected her mood. Fortunately, Chat did not seem bothered by it.

              “Rough week?”

              “You could say so… but nothing I can’t handle.” The statement would have sounded much more confident had she not repressed a yawn in the middle of the sentence. She hoped Chat had not caught that.

              Her partner frowned for a moment and gazed upon the city. After a few seconds, he spoke up, “You know, it’s pretty quiet tonight. You should go get some rest, I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

              Ladybug’s first impulse was to say no – patrolling the city was her responsibility just as much as his –, but she restrained herself just in time. It was Thursday. If she worked hard, perhaps she could get the rest of the dress done that night, have a proper patrol on Friday and still sleep enough to have energy for the ball. Besides, the city did seem calm. The offer was tempting, to say the least.

              “I can’t leave it all to you…” Ladybug said slowly, testing the waters. She knew her reasons were selfish, but, heavens, she was supposed to balance her two lives, right? Going home early one single night would not be the end of the world.

              “Don’t worry about me, my lady,” Chat replied dismissively. “Just go home and have paw-leasant dreams.”

              It took Ladybug a great deal of effort not to cringe at the pun; after all, Chat was doing her a favor and she could not complain. Instead, the heroine smiled, thanked her partner, and leaped away before her better judgment took hold of her again.

* * *

              For the first time that week, Marinette would not arrive late to class. The key to her success was simple: she had not overslept, seeing as she had not slept at all. This tactic came with a cost, of course, as all good things do. It had taken Marinette a good half an hour to hide the bags under her eyes with foundation and she had already walked three blocks when she realized that she was wearing her jacket inside out. Still, it had all been for a good cause – a _great_ cause.

              The entire night had been spent working on the last preparations of the dress. Even Tikki understood the hurry and agreed that Chat Noir was more than capable of looking after Paris for one night – _just don’t let this become a habit_ , warned the kwami in a serious tone. Tikki’s help cutting the fabric and adding the final touches had been essential. The dress was finished, stored safely in a box under her bed until it was time for the ball. Marinette hardly remembered being so proud of one of her creations before and could not wait to see Adrien’s reaction when he spotted her in it.

              First, though, she would have to wipe off the zombie look of her face. No matter how stunning she would look on Saturday, all would be for nothing if Adrien saw her like that one day before. With that in mind, Marinette dragged herself to the cafeteria and bought a cup of the darkest coffee she could find.

              The girl took a sip from the drink and ran off to the classroom. That, however, was not the most intelligent course of action, considering that: 1) the speed of her reflexes was quite lowered due to the sleep deprivation; and that, 2) as it was still early, not everyone was sitting at their desks yet.

              It just so happened that Chloé was chatting with Sabrina by the door when Marinette stumbled in. None of them was able to move away in time, causing Marinette and Chloé to collide. The dark-haired girl had closed her eyes because of the impact, but she heard quite well the horrified gasps that echoed from her classmates. She – and the rest of the school, she was certain – also heard the furious shriek that came from Chloé.

              “MY HAIR! MY CLOTHES!” The cup of coffee lied empty on the floor and its content was spilled over the blonde. Marinette had never seen an expression go from confusion to panic to rage to murderous wrath so far. She almost looked around for black butterflies. “You ruined it all! I had my hair especially done for tomorrow and look at what you’ve done!”

              The dark-haired girl finally snapped out of her trance and jumped to her feet, searching for something to help clean up Chloé. She sent Sabrina a panicked look when she found nothing, but the ginger was having the same problem.

              “Don’t worry, Chloé!” said Marinette apologetically, thinking of running to the bathroom and grabbing some paper towels. “You’ll- uh- you’ll be perfect for your party!” Chloé merely scoffed at these words.

              “Ha! Of course I will! Not that you’ll be there to see that. You are  _uninvited_ to my party!”

              Once again, the classroom was overtaken by a collective gasp. After a couple of seconds of shocked silence, hushed murmurs started. Marinette could hear none of that. Her mind was too loud already, repeatedly screaming the same question: how bad did someone have to screw up to be uninvited from a party on the day before it?

              “Chloé!” the girl yelped when the first moments of astonishment had dispersed. “Let me help you dry off, I’m certain everything will be fine!”

              The blonde rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers impatiently. “Sabrina. Paper towels. Now.”

              “Yes, Chloé!” chirped Sabrina, promptly dashing out of the room. Marinette made the motion to go after her and help, but Chloé’s deadly glare made her stop on her tracks.

              “And don’t you even _think_ of showing up at my party, you foolish fool! I’ll have you thrown out before you even blink.”

              The murmurs in the class had then increased, a fact noted by Chloé with a smirk of satisfaction. Marinette, on the other hand, stood frozen in place, staring at Chloé with a dumbfounded expression, wondering what else could go wrong that day.

              “Hi there! What’s going on?”

              Oh, of course. Adrien could arrive. Marinette mentally slapped herself for not figuring that one out sooner.

              Her luck slightly turned, however, as the teacher arrived and told them to sit down before anyone could utter another word about the accident. Chloé stomped to her seat with her arms crossed, still sending glares towards Marinette. The dark-haired bowed down her head, refusing to meet her classmates’ eyes, and rushed to Alya’s side as fast as she could. Adrien glanced around with a mildly confused expression, but quickly shrugged it off and sat beside Nino.

              Marinette banged her head against her desk, unable to cope with the looks of pity her best friend sent her. Alya wrapped an arm around the girl in a meek attempt to comfort her as the teacher started to write on the board. Suddenly, Marinette felt Alya flinch. As she looked up, she noted her friend was biting her lower lip as though to prevent herself from laughing.

              “Marinette.” Alya whispered. “You’re going to that party.”

              “What?” Marinette whispered back, knitting her eyebrows in confusion.

              “Mark my words. You’re going.”

              “But how am I supposed to get in?” Alya shrugged.

              “You still have the invitation, right?”

              “Yes, but if Chloé or anyone else sees me-”

              Alya’s lips curved into a smirk Marinette knew all too well. “Leave that to me. Just focus on looking your best.”

              “But -”

              “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, girl. And don’t forget my mask.”

* * *

              Trust was something Marinette had blindly for Alya, after so many years of friendship. Alya was often impulsive and once one of her crazy ideas had made its way into her mind, there it would stay for quite a while. However, that also meant another thing about Alya: she got the job done. Always.

              Which is why Marinette, after a nervous breakdown during recess on Friday and various failed attempts to get her friend to share her plan, eventually accepted to sit quiet and simply get ready for the ball.

              There was a glow of pride in Marinette’s eyes when she stared at herself before the mirror in her dress. It turned out exactly as she had envisaged. The top was black, sleeveless, with a collar that went up until the beginning of her neck. The skirt, which ended a few centimeters above her knees, started out as black and slowly turned bright red at its ends. Her gloves followed the same pattern, initially black in the fingerprints and ending as red a bit above her elbows. A red ribbon was wrapped around her waist and another tied part of her hair back in a loose ponytail. Her mask was of a vivid red, its ends pointing slightly upwards. Marinette could not resist adding black ladybug dots all over it. Tikki’s idea, at first, but later it started to mean something more.

              “You look amazing, Marinette!” exclaimed Tikki, floating around in order to have a full look at the dress.

              “Thanks, Tikki,” Marinette giggled. With a small smile, Marinette stared at her reflection.

              She puffed out her chest, irradiating confidence. That was exactly what the mask was for. It was a reminder of a more confident side of herself, a side she wanted to explore the fullest that night. After all, she would need to be Ladybug if she wanted to get a dance with Adrien without tripping over her own feet.

               “Marinette, Alya is here!” Sabine’s voice came from downstairs.

               Marinette picked up a black purse and opened it for Tikki to rush inside – you never knew when an akuma could strike, especially when a Bourgeois was involved. The girl then took the invitation, checking about four – no, one more, five – times to see if it was the correct one, grabbed the mask she had made for Alya, and stepped down the stairs.

               The unexpected flash from Alya’s cellphone camera momentarily blinded Marinette, almost causing her to trip. Alya chuckled, earning a playful glare from her friend. The blogger wore a sleeveless, strapless purple dress that ended just above her knees. Her hair had been especially curled for the occasion and her usual glasses had been replaced by contact lenses – _curse these masks, trying to blind me_ , Alya had complained.

              Putting her cellphone away, Alya exclaimed, “Dang, Marinette! This way it’s Adrien who will be left speechless!” Marinette beamed.

               “You think so?”

               “I _know_ so,” she stated with all of the natural confidence that came from being Alya. “Now, where’s my mask?”

               Marinette handed it to her. It was purple, matching Alya’s dress, with small sparkles around the upper side of the eye holes. The brunette put it on immediately with a very satisfied smile.

               “Now. To get you in.”

               Alya reached for a package on top of a chair and opened it for Marinette to see. The first item to be pulled out was a black cloak with buttons at the front, large enough to cover the girl’s entire outfit. Then, Alya presented a full-face white mask that left only the holder’s eyes visible and a black top hat with a white ribbon around it.

               Marinette gaped at her friend’s resourcefulness, finding a complete disguise in such a short amount of time. None of Marinette would be visible under those clothes. She could waltz around all night and no one would recognize her. Besides, with so many people at the ball, the chances of meeting Chloé were already slim.

               “This is perfect!” squealed Marinette, putting the white mask over hers.

               “Yes, it is,” agreed Alya, not bothering to hide her pride. “Now, precautions: don’t take them off until you’ve found Adrien, who, by the way, still doesn’t know you’ve been uninvited. I warned Nino not to tell him and I doubt anyone else would have.”

              At each word, Marinette’s confidence grew. The coffee accident had been a slip in her carefully laid out plan to get Adrien to fall in love with her – or, well, at least dance with her –, but she was back in the game.

              Though Alya could not see behind the new mask, she knew Marinette was grinning when she said, “Let’s go.”

* * *

              Some may say that, in order to be a great cook, one must put their heart into it. Jean-Marc Rougeaux had another philosophy. What was needed was sweat, tears, and blood – and caution not to let them drip on the food. Like every art, culinary demanded sacrifice. Jean-Marc wondered if his sacrifice had already been paid when he had accepted to be the head chef for Chloé Bourgeois’s debutante ball.

              The kitchen had been on fire since early Saturday morning. Frantic cooks ran from one oven to another, oil and sugar spread over their hands and faces. Any breaks were alternated between the workers so the giant mass production of sweets and appetizers would not be interrupted. They had all been well informed that every single dish should be ready on time and no short of perfection.

              In such an environment, it was not surprising that all of the staff had their nerves very close to snapping. As expected from any good boss, Jean-Marc was very comprehensive about their anxiety.

              In fact, he understood it so well because he was the most stressed out person in the room.

              “Out of the way, you lazy bum! Got anything important to do standing there? _Non_? Then _move_!”

              Fear spread as quickly as a virus among the cooks’ faces as they opened way for the chef. Jean-Marc had a tray of duck à l’orange on his hands, snatched from an apprentice who was taking too long preparing the dish, and was running with it towards the oven. The duck had to roast for about an hour and a half until it was ready; it would be just in time for the party, but only if he put it in the oven _now_.

              Jean-Marc was only a couple of meters from reaching his destination when a loud sound echoed from his right. It sounded like a door being slammed open, but no, that was impossible, his staff knew too well not to contaminate his kitchen like that. The high-pitched yell that immediately followed the slam was also impossible, as mere civilians were not allowed into his headquarters.

              “Papa! I want to see the cake! _Now_!”

              Given that the first two occurrences were impossible, and therefore could be nothing more than a figment of the chef’s imagination, their immediate consequence – a young cook stumbling backwards right into Jean-Marc – also had to be a mere part of a vivid dream. It started to feel a little too vivid, though, when Jean-Marc felt the bump against his right side and tripped over his own feet.

              Although all of the cooks went silent at the sight of their boss’s creation spilled uselessly on the floor, the room was not quiet even for a moment: Jean-Marc had been graced with two mighty lungs and a remarkably responsive mouth, so his yelling had started before he even hit the floor.

              “You baffling,” _thud_ , “band of baboons, what in the world was that?” The chef wasted no time jumping to his feet, his face growing redder by the second. “You!” He spun on his heels to face the cook who had collided against him. Jean-Marc snatched the spatula from the cook’s hands and pointed it very close to the latter’s nose. “You are fired!” The worker did not even have time to register the news before Jean-Marc moved on to the next victim, chosen at random among the spectators. “You’re fired! You’re fired too! What are you staring at? Fired! And you! You filthy defiler of culinary sanctuaries-”

              The words died as soon as he saw whom the spatula was pointing to. At the door, Chloé Burgeois stood with an expression just as enraged as his had been a few seconds ago. To her left, André Bourgeois, who glared at the chef with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Jean-Marc started to regret his choice of words.

              “Chef Rougeaux,” André started, his voice dripping with displeasure, “if you cannot control your own staff, then it seems you are not fit for handling this party.” Jean-Marc trembled.

              “No, no, no, no, _monsieur le maire_ , it was just a small accident, really-”

              “ _You_ are fired, Chef Rougeaux,” André declared in a tone that admitted no further discussion. “You can collect your belongings after the party. For now, just leave.”

              Jean-Marc Rougeaux had fired many people in his career, but had never experienced the feeling himself. It struck him as something very similar to overbaking macarons – the sorrow of ruining something so promising. His eyes traveled across the faces of his employees, searching for someone to speak on his behalf, to tell the mayor how absurd his decision was, but his silent plea was answered to with more silence.

              The chef’s face hardened when he realized no help would come. Putting on the most dignified expression he could manage, Jean-Marc marched out of the kitchen. It was only when he was already on the bus on the way home that he realized he still had the spatula clutched tightly on his hand. Seeing the object only fueled his rage.

              He could not believe those bums had not even lifted a finger to help him. Or that no one had stopped the spoiled brat from invading his kitchen as if _she_ were the bloody chef. Or the mayor’s audacity in thinking someone could coordinate the kitchen better than him. He, who had taken all measures to ensure perfection in every dish. This is how they repaid him.

              Thoughts of Chloé and André stuffed inside a duck and roasting in an oven occupied every single corner of his mind, so Jean-Marc never noticed the black butterfly landing on the spatula.

* * *

              It was a good thing that the cloak was so large, otherwise passersby would have wondered why the girl was shuddering so much in a warm evening like that. It was also a good thing Alya had taken the initiative to keep the invitations with herself; Marinette’s trembling hand would have seemed highly suspicious to the security guard at the hotel’s front door. Not that the sly smirk plastered on Alya’s face could be classified as entirely non-suspicious either.

              “Our invitations,” declared the brunette triumphantly, holding them out. Without the slightest hint of emotion, the man took the invitations and, after attesting they were real – some people would go to great lengths to attend a Bourgeois’s party – , motioned for the girls to enter.

              It was common knowledge that Chloé had an extravagant taste. Despite that, the duo was quite amazed at the extent she had taken it.

              The party took place at the hotel’s ballroom, a large salon with two floors: the lower one, where the vast majority of the guests were, with the tables and dancefloor; the second one, with internal and external balconies. On every table, there were big, white and gold flower arrangements with a picture of Chloé sticking out. Lanterns of various colors had been hung up on strings, which, in turn, were tied to the pillars across the room, shining so close to the ceiling that they looked like stars in the night sky. At the southern end of the room, a stage had been set up for the DJ, though he was barely visible under the golden neon letters writing Chloé’s name. A seven-layer birthday cake with a little blonde wax doll on top – slightly too angelic for an accurate representation of the hostess – was on a table at the right end of the stage, guarded against potential accidents by a man in a black suit. But what made the salon truly exquisite were the masks.

              About four hundred people filled the room, all of them composing the colorful sea of paper faces that spun and swayed in a light rhythm that could only be noticed by a sharp observer. Some had a simple design, others were as elaborate as Venetian masks. They chatted, giggled, strolled, _danced_.

              The sight was so mesmerizing that Marinette would have spent hours staring at it, had Alya not nudged her arm.

              “Let’s split up and look for him, it should be easier like that,” whispered Alya. Marinette did not have to ask who “him” referred to. She nodded and the girls disappeared into the crowd.

              As though greater forces were trying to send her a reminder of why she was not supposed to be at the party in the first place, Marinette kept bumping into other guests. The white mask prevented her from seeing clearly, but she could still feel the annoyed glares she was attracting. So much for trying to be inconspicuous.

              Through mumbled apologies, Marinette finally reached the staircase that led to the second floor, where she hoped she would get a better view of the salon. Although the staircase was a strategic spot in which she could observe practically the entire room, the white mask still got in the way, no matter how much the girl squinted her eyes. Finding Adrien would be nearly impossible like that. Despite Alya’s warning, what good would that disguise do if it kept her from achieving her true goal? Besides, she was starting to sweat under the cloak, which would mess with the dress if she did not take it off soon.

              Opting between what seemed the lesser of two evils, Marinette slowly took off the disguise, carefully glancing around to see if anyone was staring. When she finally removed the white mask, it was like breathing after being underwater for too long. Her blue eyes blinked a few times and her vision became clearer. A small smile played on her lips when Marinette started to scan the room.

              She saw Rose and Juleka dancing and laughing near the stage – a black dot and a pink dot amidst a sea of colors. Next to the sweets table, Alix – who looked terribly uncomfortable in her black dress –, Max, and Kim ate and chatted. Ivan, who had very humorously chosen to wear a skull mask, was crouching down so he could better hear something Mylène was saying. Marinette spotted Nino, who had just found Alya and was walking towards her to say hello. Nathaniel, whose fire red hair would make him recognizable anywhere, stood against a pillar, as if he were trying to make himself invisible.

              The girl let out a frustrated sigh. She had found practically everyone in her class, except for the one person she wanted to. Puffing her cheeks in annoyance, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows and looked around one more time. Her search came to a sudden halt when her gaze locked on another pair of blue eyes.

              Marinette did not have to wonder for too long whether she had been recognized; the way Chloé’s mouth had contorted in rage and the fury with which she had glared at the dark-haired girl had been elucidative enough. That settled, Marinette spun on her heels and ran upstairs, where she hoped to disappear in the crowd.

              From the corner of her eye, Marinette spotted one of the security guards, easily recognizable as they were the only ones without masks on, looking around for something. Or rather, some _one_ , seeing that Chloé had probably already alerted them of the presence of a party crasher.

              Putting her hands over her mouth to repress a yelp, Marinette quickly turned and tried to hide among the guests. That proved to be more difficult than expected, as the second floor had much less people than the first one and they kept glaring at her for bumping into them. With an apologetic smile, Marinette continued to move, never looking back in fear that one of the guards might see her face.

              At last, the crowd ended when she reached an arch that led to an external balcony. From where the girl stood, it seemed like it was empty; a good place to hide for a while, until Chloé had forgotten about her. Sending just a quick glance around to make sure she was not followed, Marinette stepped into the balcony and pressed her back against the left wall, where no one inside the ballroom would be able to see her.

              The night breeze had an immediate effect on the girl’s nerves, causing her to sigh in relief. She did not even want to imagine Chloé’s reaction if she had been caught. For someone who was supposed to be Lady Luck, Marinette’s luck had been most inconsistent that week. Perhaps Tikki would have a tip or two on the subject.

              Marinette started opening her purse to talk to the kwami when a male voice interrupted her.

              “Lad- Marinette?”

              Had it been anyone else’s voice, Marinette might have simply squeaked in surprised. As it happened to be Adrien’s voice, the girl’s reaction was a skillful combination of: squeaking; jumping half a meter up in the air; waving her arms madly in an attempt to regain balance as she landed; finally holding her hands against the wall so as not to fall; breathing heavily with wide eyes.

              “A-A-Adrien!” breathed Marinette at last.

              The boy was standing against the balcony’s right wall, which explained why she had not seen him before she entered. Adrien wore a deep blue vest – it almost looked black in that light – with golden trim over a white shirt, black pants, and black gloves. His mask was the same shade of blue as his vest. A black coat that complemented his suit was hanging on the balcony’s rails behind him. A design that, although simple, was very elegant, probably a creation of his father’s. His green eyes were wide as they stared at her, causing Marinette to blush. He was probably worried by her exaggerate reaction, so she tried to appease him by asking, as calmly as she could, “W-What are you doing h-here?”

              The boy blinked at the question and shook his head slightly, as though he had been snapped out of his thoughts. He then scratched the back of his head with a nervous smile.

              “Please don’t tell anyone… I’m hiding from Chloé. She can be a bit too much to handle sometimes.”

 _Hiding from Chloé? Oh, what a coincidence, so am I! Seems like we have a lot more in common than we thought!_ Of course she could not say that, though. What would Adrien think if he knew that she had sneaked into a party uninvited? Probably that she was desperate. No matter how close to the truth that might be, that was not how Marinette had decided to act that night. She would be confident. She would be Ladybug.

              “No, uh, no problem!” Good. Only one stammer. She was getting there.

              “So, why aren’t you at the party?”

              “I- uh- bathroom- looking for- yeah, bathroom.”

              Adrien nodded understandingly, but did not inquire any further. Marinette took a deep breath. She would not let the conversation die like that.

              “So, it’s a party- I mean, nice party, right?”

              “Uh? Yeah,” nodded the boy absent-mindedly. “It’s fun to see everyone wearing masks.” His lips then curved into a small smile. “Yours was inspired by Ladybug’s, right?”

              “Y-yeah!” She could feel the heat on her cheeks as she tried to pick her next words. Think like Ladybug. Think like Ladybug. “She was my inspiration when I- well- I designed the dress, so-”

              “Woah, wait.” His eyes were wide again. “You _made_ the dress too?” Marinette looked down in a meek attempt to hide her blush and nodded. “Wow! Marinette, I knew you liked to design, and you even made that hat for the contest, but this is just amazing!”

              “Yeah, t-thank you! I still need practice, but, uh, I like it!”

              Adrien chuckled. “Sounds to me like you’re ready to work in this area then.”

              Marinette could feel her heart dancing in her chest. Adrien was talking to her, complimenting her work, an interaction that had not happened ever since she had won his father’s contest, months ago. All of that because she had started a conversation with him.

              The girl’s fingers quickly touched her mask, verifying that it was still in place. A new wave of confidence rushed through her, motivating her to go on.

              “And what about you?” The boy sent her a quizzical look, slightly increasing Marinette’s nervousness. “Uh- what do you want to-to work with?”

              When Adrien did not answer immediately, Marinette started to wonder if she had asked something she should not have. Perhaps that was too personal a question for him? Perhaps he did not want to discuss these kinds of things with her? Perhaps he would not want to talk to her anymore for finding her too intrusive? The doubts popped in her mind one after another, causing Marinette to start fidgeting.

              She was so happy when Adrien’s answer finally came that she almost cried.

              “I… I actually don’t know. I mean… I know I model, and it’s not that I dislike it, but… it’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life.”

              Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise. She, like almost all girls who knew him, had always assumed that Adrien planned to continue with his modeling career after finishing school. With his looks and his father’s influence, it seemed like the obvious choice. Nevertheless, the way he talked about it, without any emotion, almost as if it were a duty, made it painfully clear that she did not know as much about Adrien as she had thought.

              She wanted to change that.

              “Isn’t there anything you like…?”

              Adrien mused for a second. “I like fencing, I like Physics… I thought of teaching once, but I’m not sure I could do that.”

              “You could do anything you want, you’re amazing at everything you do.”

              The words rolled out of Marinette’s tongue with such ease that she did not realize what she was doing until it was already too late. Until Adrien was staring at her with a dumbfounded expression and the only way out was for her to jump off the balcony. She wondered if the height would be enough to kill her or if embarrassment would do that first.

              To the girl’s surprise, when she dared to lift her eyes to Adrien again, he was smiling. At her.

              “Thank you, Marinette. That means a lot to me.”

              His tone was firm, but kind. Like he meant every word. That same honesty was reflected in his eyes – was it just her or did they seem even greener than a minute ago? –, which gazed upon Marinette as if that were the first time they saw her. That gaze, that gleam, it trapped her. Even if she could feel the blush spreading across her face, even if it seemed like her heart was about to fly out of her chest at any moment, she could not look away.

              After Adrien’s words of gratitude, silence fell between them. Marinette was too dazed to form a coherent sentence and Adrien was still trying to make sense of the girl before him, who just the day before was too shy to talk and now was comforting him. For the first time since their meeting, they heard the music from the party.

              Adrien coughed and tried to hide his embarrassment; he doubted it had been in Marinette’s plans to spend the night listening to his insecurities.

              “Well, I don’t want to keep you from the party,” the boy said. “You should go back and dance.”

              These words filled Marinette with panic. She had worked very hard to meet with Adrien that night and she refused to leave so quickly. So many sleepless nights should have counted for at least a few minutes more.

              “I-I don’t- I don’t know how to dance.” It was a lie, but Marinette did not know what to say so as to justify her not returning to the ballroom. _You’re the only person I want to dance with tonight and I’m being chased by a maniac in there_ had not seemed a socially acceptable response. She had not expected, however, the consequences of her statement.

              “It’s not hard! Come here.” Marinette watched in astonishment as Adrien held out his hand and motioned for her to take it. “I’ll teach you,” he complemented, thinking that the girl’s hesitation was because she had not understood him.

              The wheels raced in Marinette’s brain. Before she even had time to blink, her mind had already analyzed all of the possible scenarios: all of the things she could say or do, all of his reactions, everything that could go wrong. For the first time in her life, she told those thoughts to get lost and took Adrien’s hand.

              A slow song was playing, bless Marinette’s luck, as odd as it was. Adrien moved his arms closer to Marinette and sent her a look, silently asking if that was alright. The girl nodded, biting the inside of her lips to prevent her smile from becoming a full grin. Once her consent was given, Adrien placed his left hand on her back, a little above her hips, and enlaced the fingers of his right hand with her left.

              “Now I lead. Just count to three and follow my footsteps, okay?”

              It started out with a shy step. One. A reassuring smile. Two. A warmth in her chest. Three.

              One, two, three, one, two, three, and so they went. Unable to completely erase her nervousness, Marinette’s first steps were hesitant and clumsy. Adrien, however, proved himself a very patient teacher and in no time she was able to follow his rhythm.

              One, two, three, one two, three. And so they danced.

              Adrien lifted his arm in a motion for Marinette for twirl. She could not help but let out a giggle. She had been dreaming about that moment the entire week and, somehow, reality had bested her imagination. Nothing could ruin that moment.

              The music was suddenly cut off by an explosion coming from the ballroom. As a reflex, Marinette spun towards the entrance to the balcony and put herself protectively in front of Adrien. The boy’s reaction came two seconds later, when he also tried to put himself between Marinette and the potential danger, but ended up finding himself on her side. After exchanging a quick and confused look, the duo ran back into the room.

              The stage had been taken over by a middle-aged man dressed in a black chef suit and a white apron, holding a large spatula on his right hand. As though the malicious grin on his face or the uncontrollable rage in his eyes were not enough of a giveaway, his orange skin made it painfully obvious that he had been possessed by an akuma.

              “Thought you could fire me, _monsieur le maire_? No one fires Master Chef!”

              The citizens of Paris were enough used to akuma attacks to know that the best approach to them was to remain calm and walk towards the closest exit in an orderly fashion. Of course, they also were used enough to these situations to know that screaming and panicking had a higher probability of attracting Ladybug and Chat Noir. So scream and panic they did.

              Then again, screams and panic only seemed to fuel super villains’ desire for causing a greater commotion. As such, for the sake of protocol, that was when Master Chef brandished his spatula into the air and pointed it towards the closest person, the DJ. The latter shrieked as a blue light beam left the object and engulfed him. In a blink of an eye, the DJ found himself trapped between two bread buns, a cherry on his mouth to gag him, and whipped cream covering his entire body.

              More screams, more commotion. Achievement unlocked.

              Marinette gritted her teeth. She needed to find a place to transform quickly, but first she had to get Adrien to safety. All exits were on the first floor, but the stairs were too open and too vulnerable for them to get down. The boy seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

              “Marinette, get back to the balcony and stay hidden! I’ll get help!”

              Before Marinette could argue, Adrien ran off and disappeared among the guests. With only one option and no time to lose, the girl dashed into the balcony and opened her purse.

              “Tikki! Transform me!”

              The kwami quickly flew into Marinette’s earing, covering the stone with five red dots. In a flash of red light, Marinette’s dress was replaced by her Ladybug suit.

              Ladybug ran back into the salon and looked down. A few more people had been trapped in food – she could identify a woman inside a croissant, a man used as filling for a _croque-monsieur_ , and the mayor’s head sticking out of a roasted duck, among others –, whereas the rest of the guests were running towards the entrance.

              Well. All but one.

              “How _dare_ you come in here and ruin _my party_ , you foolish fool!” yelled Chloé, stomping towards the stage with her fists clenched. “My father will have you banned from _every_ restaurant in Paris when he gets out of that stupid duck!”

              Master Chef threw his head back and laughed at her words.

              “Your father will be _served_ in every restaurant, you little brat!” Having said that, he raised the spatula.

              Ladybug threw her yoyo around one of the strings on the ceiling and swung, moving Chloé out of the way just in time. The blonde let out a small gasp in surprise and for a moment Ladybug thought she was going to thank her for the last-minute saving.

              “Ladybug! You’re crumpling my dress!”

              Perhaps that had been expecting too much from her.

              “Chloé, just run,” sighed Ladybug, thinking she had dealt with Chloé too much for one night.

              “But my party-”

              “Will be entirely back to normal after I cleanse the akuma. Now can you please just go?”

              From the corner of her eye, Ladybug detected another blue beam aimed at them and swung her yoyo to deflect it. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backwards into Chloé, causing both girls to crash on the floor. Master Chef’s laughter echoed across the room.

              “Now, now, I’ve heard that insects are a delicacy in some parts of the world. I’ve always wanted to know what they taste like,” he stated, readying his weapon.

              Ladybug groaned and started to get up. She knew she could not get her yoyo in time to bar the attack. She could jump out of the way, but not if she tried to take Chloé with her. She had to make a decision. She stayed.

              A black blur blocked Ladybug’s vision just when the attack was launched. Chat Noir spun his staff to deflect it and then extended the weapon to hit Master Chef. The villain jumped out of the way, but that gave Chat enough time to check on his partner.

              “Why, hello, my lady,” he purred, holding out a hand to help Ladybug up. “You really know how to crash a party.”

              “You have _no_ idea, _chaton_ ,” giggled the girl, back to her feet.

              “Hey! Down here! Someone care to help?” came Chloé’s whining, causing the duo’s eyes to twitch in annoyance. Chat held out his hand for Chloé as well, though considerably less enthusiastically.

              “Chat, can you get her out of the way?” asked Ladybug through gritted teeth. If she had to spend one more minute next to the blonde, she would probably roast her herself. Thankfully, Chat Noir understood the message well enough.

              Ignoring Chloé’s complaints, Chat Noir took wrapped an arm around her and extended his staff to lift them towards the upper floor. With the exit still packed with desperate guests, leaving through one of the balconies would be the fastest route. Unfortunately, it also left them in a vulnerable position, as Master Chef promptly noticed.

              As the villain aimed his spatula at Chat Noir and Chloé, he did not see Ladybug swinging her yoyo and wrapping it around his weapon. The chef only realized her plan when she pulled the string down, removing the spatula from Chat’s way. Master Chef gritted his teeth as the heroine yanked the string, trying to take the spatula from him, and maintained an iron grip on it. When Ladybug thought she was starting to gain the upper hand, he released a beam and she had to jump out of the way to avoid the blow. By then, Chat Noir and Chloé had already disappeared into the balcony.

              With a furious cry, Master Chef sent more beams at Ladybug, who swiftly dodged them. Jumping from side to side, the red-clad girl gradually reduced the distance between herself and Master Chef. When the range was satisfactory, she raised a leg to kick the spatula out of his hands, but the villain blocked it with his arm.

              Chat Noir jumped to her side and swung his staff against the spatula, trying to knock it away. Master Chef’s grip did not falter and he used his free arm to shove Chat Noir away, sending him colliding against Ladybug and falling out of the stage.

              Ladybug rolled and managed to land on her knees just in time to see that another beam was being prepared. Wrapping an arm around Chat, who was still fallen on his back, she wrapped her yoyo around the strings on the ceiling and swung them both to safety. Chat Noir’s lips broke into a wide grin when he realized his situation.

              “This is fun, we should do it more often,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

              “Now you’re pushing it,” warned Ladybug, letting go of both the yoyo and her partner, who did not manage such a gracious landing as hers. Chat sent her a quick glare for that, to which Ladybug simply smiled unapologetically.

              Rubbing the back of his head, Chat Noir asked, “I suppose it’s safe to assume the akuma is in the spatula, right?”

              “You’re finally getting the hang of this, _chaton_!” the heroine teased with a wink, which caused Chat to smirk.

              “Well, I might have had a great teacher.”

              The duo jumped to the right as another blue beam came at them, hiding themselves behind one of the tables.

              “So. Plan?” inquired Chat. Ladybug mused for a second and her face lit up.

              “Just follow me, _minou_.”

              Keeping her head down and the rest of her body protected by the table, Ladybug started running with it towards Master Chef. Chat Noir quickly rolled to another table and did the same. They expected the tables to function as a shield for them to get close and snatch the spatula. Nevertheless, such a plan was based on the assumption that Master Chef’s powers only worked on people, not objects. That assumption was completely refuted when Ladybug found herself holding a large _crêpe_ instead of a table.

              The pastry started to come undone in her hands and she had no choice but to leave it aside and leap away once more. Chat Noir’s luck had not been any better and he quickly retreated to Ladybug’s side. With no other ideas in mind, she decided that was her cue.

              “Lucky Charm!” shouted Ladybug as she threw her yoyo up in the air.

              The weapon shone brightly, momentarily blinding everyone in the room. Eventually, the light faded and a hanger with the usual red and black polka dot pattern fell on Ladybug’s hands. Her reaction was no different from the one she usually had after activating the Lucky Charm: staring at the seemingly useless object, baffled.

              “So… these are your powers telling us to ‘hang’ in there?” asked Chat Noir.

              The heroine’s eyes narrowed at Chat, whose only reaction was a shameless grin.

              Repressing an annoyed sigh, her eyes darted across the room in an attempt to formulate a plan. Master Chef noticed the change in the girl’s attitude and started firing shots from his spatula against her. Chat Noir quickly placed himself in front of his partner and spun his staff, deflecting the beams.

              Meanwhile, Ladybug’s brain raced. Table. No. Chair. No. Flower vase. No. Stairs. Heavens, no. Lanterns. No. Strings with the lanterns. Um, that was something. Giant sign with Chloé’s name. Yes. Birthday cake. Oh, yes. That would do.

              “Chat! Distraction!” shouted Ladybug, indicating with her eyes where she wanted him to be. As expected, he understood it immediately.

              “What a sweet idea, my lady,” he had time to say – much to Ladybug’s dismay – before racing away.

              “Hey, there! Someone is about to become a _chef brûlé_!”

              Ladybug winced at that one. It felt like someone had stabbed her spleen. It truly did.

              Chat Noir thrust his staff repeatedly in Master Chef’s direction, so quickly that the villain took a defensive stance and could only launch a couple of attacks before the hero was close.

              That was the opportunity Ladybug was waiting for to wrap her yoyo around the strings hanging  on the ceiling and swing herself upwards. When she was high enough, she placed the hanger’s hook on the string and grabbed its ends, like in a zip line. Pushing her weight forward, the red-clad girl slid towards the stage, where Chat Noir kept pushing Master Chef to its center.

              The boy saw Ladybug’s arrival from the corner of his eye and leaped back for a moment, towards the birthday cake.

              “Cataclysm!” he cried, running his hand across the hind legs of the metal table the cake was on.

              The effect was immediate and the table gave away. All seven layers of cake tumbled down in Master Chef’s direction. The villain had no time to dodge and his powers were useless against food itself. As such, the dessert hit him with full force.

              Once Ladybug was above the stage, she threw her yoyo, wrapped it around the upper side of the giant neon ‘O’ in Chloé’s name, and yanked the string. The letter detached itself from the stage and fell on Master Chef. As the villain was covered in frosting, the ‘O’ slid down easily to his waist, trapping him and preventing him from moving his arms. Master Chef struggled, to no avail.

              Whistling carelessly, Chat Noir snatched the spatula from the chef’s hand and threw it to Ladybug, who was dropping down from her zip line. The heroine caught it with ease and snapped it in half, releasing the black butterfly.

              The foul insect attempted to fly away, as they always did, but Ladybug was faster. Pulling out her yoyo, the heroine caught the akuma inside. When she opened it, a purified white butterfly flew out.

              “Bye-bye, _petit papillon_.” She threw Lucky Charm up in the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

              Waves of light surrounded the ballroom, repairing the damage. The neon sign became whole again, the cake looked like it was fresh out of the oven, and, most importantly, people were released from their food prisons. Once again, the day had been saved.

              Ladybug turned to her partner, who already awaited her with a hand up in the air and a grin on his face.

              “ _Bien joué_!” they chorused, bumping their fists into each other.

              Ladybug smiled at her partner and turned to leave. She still had Adrien to find and make sure he was not hurt. And perhaps resume a certain dancing lesson.

              “We could stick around, you know,” suggested Chat Noir in the most nonchalant manner he could – which was actually not nonchalant at all – “We’re already dressed for a masquerade, after all.”

              “Not for too long, _chaton_ ,” chuckled Ladybug as her miraculous beeped, leaving her earring with only three dots. “Maybe some other time.” She winked and him and turned away, completely missing the effect that gesture or even her words had on the young hero.

              Chat Noir watched with a tender gaze and a hopeful smile as she swung away.

* * *

              Back to the balcony, Marinette adjusted her hair and her mask as fast as she could. The music would be back in place soon and she wanted to check on her friends before the party restarted.

              The girl spotted Alya talking to Nino and Adrien near the exit on the first floor and hurried down the stairs. As soon as Alya saw her friend, she pulled Marinette into a tight embrace.

              “You had me worried! I couldn’t find you anywhere!” the blogger scolded, bopping Marinette on the top of the head. The dark-haired sent Alya an apologetic smile, rubbing the place the latter had hit.

              “I was okay, I was hiding!”

              “You could have texted me! Why do you even have a cellphone if you don’t use it?” inquired Alya, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. We were thinking of leaving.”

              Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. “L-leaving? Why?” She tried to signal to her friend that the plan had been a success and that leaving the party was an utterly terrible idea, but the message was too complex to be transmitted with a mere widening and narrowing of eyes.

              “Well, after we were almost turned into macarons, everyone just thought it would be best to end the party,” explained Alya, shooting her friend a sympathetic look.

              “The party was kind of lame anyway. Terrible song selection,” complained Nino as he and Adrien stepped closer to the two girls. “I say we go grab a pizza to compensate for the night.”

              “I second the motion,” declared Adrien.

              “Mind if we join?” Alya quickly intervened, grabbing Marinette by the arm.

              “Not at all!” replied Nino. “Let’s go!” He and Adrien went chatting ahead.

              “Don’t faint on me now, girl,” Alya whispered to her friend with a wink.

              A slight blush covered Marinette’s cheeks as she nodded. Her friend’s concern was, for once, unfounded: she would not faint and she would not flee. Perhaps her dance with Adrien had not been as perfect as she had envisaged – certainly not as long –, but it had happened. It had been real. It had been her first step. Slowly but surely, she would be running.

              Confident as Ladybug, she had promised herself. That had almost made her forget who Ladybug was in the first place.

              Smiling widely, Marinette took off her mask and followed her friends.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea behind this story was to write what I think an actual Miraculous Ladybug episode could be like. Hence, no reveal and a longer description of the fight against the akuma, so that the story would not be completely focused on Adrinette fluff. Still, I tried to make the experience meaningful to Marinette and make her aware that she can be confident around Adrien regardless of the Ladybug mask. It was a fun project and I have to thank my friend Clara (napstabrook on tumblr - follow her! Like her art! She's amazing!) for the support and for drawing the designs for Marinette's and Adrien's clothes.
> 
> Happy New Year y'all, have a good day!
> 
> -Mari


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